That and a Bullet
by Ezra Scarlet
Summary: "Now," Dean said, after he was sure that Sam was asleep, "I'm going to make this simple." The gun still cocked in John's direction proved it was anything but. -WARNING: Child abuse, some offensive language-
1. Chapter 1

A/N Just a little bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. I don't actually believe that John was frequently abusive (Occasionally though, a definite) but if he was, I know that Dean would have done anything he could to keep Sam safe. I might do a sequel where Sam finds out or something. I dunno, just depends on how much you guys like it. Also, some of the lines aren't exactly right, but there close enough. Please excuse this.

Notes: Slanted text means it is either an inner thought, memory, or there is emphasis on that word.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, some language.

-See profile for disclaimer.

0o0

"We were pretty lucky to have Dad."

Dean cast a surprised glance in Sam's direction over the roof of the Impala. A wry smile crossed his face.

"Huh. I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Yeah, well, all things considered, we turned out pretty alright. But, a little more tequila, a little less demon hunting, and we would've ended up with Max's childhood."

_Dean found the solution to his problem in the barrel of a gun._

_Dad had come home one day, drunk off his mind. Dean, then, was fully prepared to take whatever beating his father had prepared. He had already hardened himself against such things. For ten years he had protected Sammy from the truth. Sam may be a smart kid, but Dean was an awesome liar, his poker face rivaling a professional._

_"What happened to your eye, Dean?"_

_"Nothing Sammy, just got in a fight."_

_And around and around and around, in an endless loop of lies. He kept Sammy locked safely away in his room, away from the violence. And so, while Sam slept on peacefully, Dean did a deadly dance with his father's anger._

_But tonight, it would seem that John was tired of battering Dean around. He wanted a new target. A fresher one. One who would scream and writhe like Dean used to. So instead of immediately battering into his oldest son the moment he entered the room, he made his way towards the locked door in the far right corner._

_Before Dean could even register what was happening, John was pounding his gargantuan fists against the locked door. Dean remembers his father screaming at Sam through the door, and Sam answering back in a frightened whimper. He remembers trying to pull his father away, telling Sam to go back to bed, and being shoved out-of-the-way. Dean remembers feeling helpless and scared hearing his little brothers frightened whimpers through the thin walls._

_And then he remembers catching sight of the handle of a gun peeking almost mercifully from the waistband of John's pants._

_Dean doesn't give himself to think. Without quite remembering how, he's already snatched the gun from its previousplacement, has the safety off, and is cocking it at his father._

_"Turn around, slowly."_

_John had frozen the moment he felt himself being relieved of the comforting weight in the back of his jeans. The chilly voice that came soon after only proved to shock him more. In a slow turn, John came face to face with his son, who's eye's were unbearable cold. John didn't bother trying to rationalize with his son, try to convince him to drop the gun. John could see it in his eyes._

_If John so much as blinked in a threatening manner, Dean was going to put a bullet through his head._

_John briefly regretted the lessons in shooting he had given to Dean, but couldn't help be proud of the cold fury that burned in his eyes. Not taking his eye's off of John, Dean said;_

_"Sam, go back to bed. No matter what you hear, don't come out, you hear me? Go."_

_Sam may or may not have opened his mouth to argue, but sooner or later they both heard the answering sound of Sam climbing back into bed. His soft snores followed soon after._

_"Now," Dean said, after he was sure that Sam was asleep, "I'm going to make this simple." The gun still cocked in John's direction proved it was anything but._

_"If you ever so much as think of causing me or Sammy harm ever again, I put a bullet right between your eyes. Do you understand me?"_

_A snarl bubbled from Johns mouth, his face twisting viciously. When John made to attack him, Dean shot a bullet in his thigh, the sound muffled from a makeshift silencer that Dean had attached (but when did he attach it? He can't remember, why can't he remember?)_

_After that, John may or may not have groaned in pain or thrown angry curses at his oldest son. However, John never touched them again. Sometimes, he looked like he might, but one warning glare from Dean had John reeling back. John didn't doubt for a second that Dean would end him. After that thought, John even started to behave (in a poor, John Winchester way) like a father. He cared for Sam, looked after him, and tried to cross the distance that had built between them._

_But Dean never trusted his father again. He took orders from the man and was a good little soldier. He did what his father wanted him to, and shot when pointed. But anytime John and Sam got into one of their arguments, Dean was always in the corner, eyes watching. Something had broken between John and Dean. Sam and his father had a chanceof being a family again, Sam never having found out about those first, torturous years. But Johns chance had all but sailed away with Dean._

_In the end, all it took to convince John to back off was his oldest son's cold, murderous eyes._

_Well, that and a bullet._

"Yeah," Dean whispered, casting his eyes down.

"All things considered."


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam, calm down."

"A kid, Dean, just a bloody _kid. _And you just-"

"I know Sam, it's all just fifty shades of fucked up, but you have to try to understand-"

"Understand? What about you 'killing a kid in cold blood' is there to understand?"

Their latest case had left the both worse for wear. What with between researching ways to kill Lilith and find a way to break Dean's soul train deal (something Sam was still very much pissed at) they hadn't had much time to relax. So, when the chance came at them for a simple hunt, they had taken it, both of them looking for a break (though looking back on it, Sam saw that it was all kinds of crazy that their "relaxing" consisted of salting and burning a body).

Their case had led them to a little town just outside of the city. Two victims, reportedly having been slashed and disemboweled, named Henry and Victoria Bush, their son George the only survivor (and yes, if it hadn't been all kinds of screwed up, Sam would've laughed). At first, the boys had suspected a possession, the son having killed his parents without his knowledge. It was only later that they learned the truth.

There had been no demon, no restless spirit looking for revenge. Just a small, broken, abused teenage boy, looking for revenge against his abusers. At a young age, his parents (having been alcoholics and uncontrollable in their anger) had taken it out on his son. And for years, he had taken it quietly and not said a word about it.

That was until George had found out he was quite adept at the art of killing. And so he took his knives, and his anger, and his hatred, and he killed the people who had made his life a living hell.

After having found out that George was abused (from neighbours who had suspected or heard things every now and again but been too afraid to speak up) Sam and Dean had gone searching for the boy, hoping to ask for his side of things, maybe find out the truth. It was at Deans suggestion that they check his parents grave sites. Maybe the kid would revisit them in a twisted show of triumph?

They had found George kneeling in front of his parents graves, weeping. Once found, the boy had begged them to kill him. Sam was shocked, not able to understand just why the kid would ask for something like that. Sure, he killed his parents, but even Sam could admit that they were kinda asking for it. But the boy had been insatiable in his pleas for them to kill him, barely even hearing Sam as he tried to soothe the boy out of whatever delirium he had fallen into. Sam was against killing the kid.

Dean, as it would later occur, was not.

Before Sam could even begin to comprehend, Dean had pushed him out-of-the-way and shoved his gun to the boy's forehead. Right before Dean had pulled the trigger, Sam would've sworn a small smile of relief had tugged at George's lips.

The ride back to the motel was strained, the air crackling with tension. They had left George with a gun by his side, hopefully convincing anyone who looked that it was a suicide. And then, when they got to the hotel, Sam exploded.

"You just shot him, Dean! He was a kid and you f_ucking shot him!_ Yeah he asked you to do it but he wasn't in his right mind!"

"Sam, please, would you just listen-"

"_Listen?_ I'm done listening to you! We kill monsters, Dean, not humans. George wasn't a monster! He was just a kid who got dealt a shitty hand in life and you fucking _shot-"_

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Sam didn't know who was more surprised by Dean's sudden outburst. Him, or his brother. Dean was never one to lose his temper, that was something he left to Sam and Dad. Looking back on it, Sam supposed that he and Dad were at each others throats so often that Dean never got the chance at being mad. Dean was always the protector, inter-mediator, the one who held their family together.

Sam remembered, though, the one time Dean had looked like he might very well kill their father.

_"You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?" Sam screamed at his father, voice hoarse. Sam would later realize that this was one of the few times that he and his father had fought without Dean in the room to mediate between the two of them. Maybe that was why things got so heated in the first place._

_"Why you little brat!" his father had shouted, jaw clenching in anger, his fist rising up to deliver a crushing blow._

_Sam had seen it coming. He had seen the blood rise in his fathers face and saw his eyes bug dangerously out of their sockets._

_And Sam had also seen his brother slam open the door behind his father looking very, very, **very** pissed._

_The moment the door had flown open, all colour had fled his fathers face. His fist dropped uselessly to his side, and his eyes had fled almost fearfully to a random corner of the room, looking anywhere but at his oldest son and at Sam._

_Dean was the first to speak._

_"Not interrupting anything, am I?" Dean spat, his words laced with venom. Sam had never been afraid of his brother before. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Dean always seemed to radiate safety and comfort. Everytime Sam thought of Dean, it was always accompanied with the word "home."_

_Now though, the look that Dean shot his father had Sam cowling in a corner._

_His father, still refusing to turn and face his oldest son, gave out a whispered reply of "No."_

_"Good," Dean ground out, his eyes flashing dangerously, "Keep it that way."_

_Looking back on it later, in a far and distant point in the future, Sam would come to realize it was the first (and most noticeably the last) time he and his father had argued without Dean in the room._

"Okay," Sam said slowly, seeming to weigh every word, "explain it to me then."

At this, the anger seemed to evaporate from Deans features. His hands came up to tug at his hair, pulling painfully at the roots. Sam did not comment on the action, recognising it as something Dean did when he was trying (and failing) to gather his thoughts into something coherent. The best path to take when Dean was like this was to simply wait it out, let his brother collect himself.

But Dean was having a hard time doing that, because he wanted to explain it to Sam but he didn't know how and his thoughts were one big jumbled mess and oh fuck was it just him or was it starting get really hot in here?

"You wouldn't understand, Sam! I mean yeah, he was a kid, but he just so _old_ and broken and sad and tired and yeah his parents were abusive bastards but they were the only ones who even _remotely _acknowledged him and if that aint all kinds of messed up then I don't know what is and George he didn't mean to kill them but he was just so _angry _and_ tired _of it all and he just wanted _out _man and you don't know-"

But suddenly a pair of strong hands came down upon his shoulders, hazel eyes boring into his, and seemingly without any command from himself, he was able to think clearer and his thoughts, though still jumbled, arranged themselves into a semi-comprehensible format.

"Shit Dean, breath, would you?"

Doing his best to obey Sam's command, Dean took in large, stuttering breaths. Once Dean had calmed down, Sam released his grip on Dean's shoulders. Dean would never admit it, not in a million years, but the moment Sam severed contact, he missed it.

Sam, however, had other thoughts on his mind. Alarm bells were going haywire throughout his mind, and Sam wasn't sure he would like where they led him too. Never before had Sam ever suspected that Dad might be hitting Dean. Sure, Sam and his father didn't get along most of the time, but he could never imagine his father hitting them. He now realized that such thinking had been naïve on his part.

"Dean," Sam said, his words coming out slow and full of double meaning, "why do you know all this? I mean yeah, it's one things to look at it from the kids point of view, but you? You seem to think you know _exactly _what the kid was thinking. Help me understand, man. Why do you know this?"

But it would seem that was the wrong question to ask. Because the moment he did, the walls that Dean usually had let slam down for this small, brief conversation was slammed back up. Sam could literally _see _the moment Deans proverbial mask slotted back into space and Sam's heart sank just seeing it.

"No, no, no, no Dean, c'mon man, don't do this."

Sam could see Dean pause in his rebuilding of his walls, waiting to see what Sam would say next. The sight of the half vulnerable, half weary look on Dean's face had Sam swallowing back tears. Reaching out to his brother as one would to a wounded animal, Sam approached slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"C'mon Dean, please. You don't have to do this alone anymore. I'm here."

And it seemed that was all it took for Dean's face to crumple in anguish, something that hurt Sam to see. Going to his brother, Sam drew him in a tight embrace, and was not wholly surprised when Dean fought him.

"No bro, c'mon man, just let it go."

Dean moaned in protest at that, his hands coming up to beat uselessly against Sam's chest. But it did nothing to loosen Sam's hold on him. If anything, Sam held him even tighter.

"Dean, it's fine."

But Dean couldn't do it. Sam was asking him, _him, _Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, macho man of the year, to just _let go, _and that was something no one had ever asked of him. But as Sam clutched him to his chest, his grip firm and understanding, Dean found himself having to swallow back a rather large lump in his throat, the effort it took to swallow back the tears mentally draining him.

"Sam," Dean whimpered, his voice coming out pleading in a last desperate attempt to hold on to whatever little pride he had left, "please, don't."

And once the heartbroken sound had left Dean's mouth, Sam, almost, _almost_ caved to his brothers plea. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he chased it away. Because now Sam knew, without a doubt, that he was right, and that this wasn't something that he could let Dean just bury and suppress and drown with his usual methods. Yes, anger rose in his chest and threatened to consume him, but he shoved it down and decided to deal with it later. Because now, he had to look after Dean, and honestly, it was about time.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice now having dropped to a whisper, "it's okay man. It's alright."

And so it was with a last, heart wrenching groan, Dean let it all go. What Sam was unprepared for, however, was the pure agony of Deans emotions. Sobs shook Deans body, his fists coming up to curl into Sams shirt, seeking comfort in the contact his brother so readily provided. His face came down to rest in the crook of Sam's neck, burying into his warmth. Sobs and gasps racked his throat and mouth, accompanied my moans of anguish. His shaking legs, no longer able to hold his weight, seemed to collapse underneath him. And so Sam fell to the floor, Dean buried efficiently into his side, listening to his brother break from the inside out and realize just how much Dean held in all this time. And yeah, it hurt Sam to see Dean in so much pain, his indestructible, strong older brother. But Sam knew that if Dean had left this inside, continued to let it fester, than it would have eventually destroyed him.

And as Sam sat there, supporting what felt like the weight of the world in the small body of one hell-bound Winchester, Sam had to swallow back his own tears of anger and misery.

0o0

A/N Okay, so hope you guys like this chapter. I have no beta so there are probably countless spelling mistakes, sorry about that. Afters this, expect there to be only one more chapter, so I hope you guys are enjoying it. Please tell me what you think, I'd be more than happy to hear any constructive crisitcm you have for me, thoughts on this chapter, or even ideas for the next one.

Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

He hadn't cried himself to sleep in years.

These days, he was a more "pass out drunk and emotionally numb" kinda guy. He'd stopped crying himself to sleep at the age of five, when no one came to tend to his tears and chase away his fears. It was a rule he had set for himself and had sworn he'd never break. Because it wasn't the crying oneself to sleep part that hurt the most. It was the waking up and finding no one to hold him bit that sucked ass. But, as Confucius once said, "there is an exception to every rule."

Or, at least, someone said that.

Now though, as he lay in his cheap motel bed which smelt faintly of urine, Dean kinda wished that he could punch whoever the fuck _had _said that right in the face. Because as his hands came up to rub at his jaw, tasting crusted salt along his lips and feel the grit in his eyes, he really wished the guy had just kept his mouth shut.

Eyes darting over to the bed opposite his, he saw that it was (thankfully) empty. He was more than a little grateful that Sam wasn't there. If possible, he wanted to shove the whole chick flick moment they had had underneath a rug and never speak of it again.

Rising slowly, his feet hit the ground heavily, elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging between.

It was something that he had sworn to himself to never speak of. Something that he held under tight lock and key. Something that had always been there in his fathers eyes. A secret between the two of them that had never been talked about, but was always present. It hung in the air between them and never quite left, no matter how much laughter filled their lungs, nor the amount of times strong arms pulled him out of harms way.

At first, after having been threatened by his eldest, John Winchester had tried halfheartedly to apologize many times. Never with words, but with actions. With candy bars bought last minute at the gas'n'sip, birthdays celebrated weeks late, and quick "are you okay's" chucked over a careless shoulder.

A deep sigh left his lips, a hand coming up to wipe at his face.

He would've liked to have sat there for a few more hours. Liked to just think, to just _be._ However, it was at the moment that the loud engine of the impala decided to make it's presence known.

Dean tensed, unsure of what to do. Not wanting to be seen looking so vulnerable, he vaulted to his feet.

Dean Winchester was the master at burying things and pretending they never existed. He wasn't about to stop now.

0o0

Sam pulled into the parking lot outside of their small, dingy hotel room. Killing the engine, he stopped for a second, head coming to rest against the wheel. From the sounds coming from the room, his brother was up. He didn't know how he was going to approach the subject with Dean.

However, it had to be done.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the Impala, stalked over to the rooms front door, and lay a hand on the doorknob. Before he could lose his courage, he threw the door open, body tensing in trepidation.

Now, Sam Winchester could say with extreme confidence that not much surprised him. He'd faced Werewolves, Ghosts, and any other mythical beasts you could think of. He'd infected with demon blood, killed, resurrected, and had his brother sell his soul for him. So yeah, it was fair to say that he was pretty immune to all things "surprising".

Dean cooking, however, would have to be one of the most surprising things he had ever seen.

That wasn't to say Dean couldn't cook. As far as Sam was concerned, he was one of the best damn cooks to ever grace this earth, Sams childhood having been fulled with nothing but meals supplied by Dean. The things Dean could do with leftovers would make your mouth water. No, more than anything, it was that Sam had expected Dean to still be a great, big, dirty pile of angst, curled defensively against a wall or something.

This? A cooking and, (God help him he must be going crazy) _whistling _happily Dean had not been what he was expecting at all.

Dean glanced up from the bacon he was currently frying, smile beginning to stretch its way across his lips before his eyes widened comically as oil spat at him from the frying pan.

"Shit." Dean cursed, working to remove the pan from the stove and then backing out of the way of any flying liquid.

"Okay Sammy," Dean finally said, turning towards him and blowing on his slightly burnt hands, "I've got breakfast on the stove and a case already lined up for us. Eat quickly and then load our stuff into the car while I take a shower, Okay?"

Not even waiting for Sam to answer, Dean practically jogged to the bathroom, the door closing behind him with an audible "click".

Sam stood there, mouth still wide open, not quite sure how to process the situation. This had not been what he was expecting at all. Anger, awkwardness, hell, even more crying would've been more expected. But this? _This?_ This happiness that seemed to have come out of nowhere? This was strange.

Dean continued in the same fashion for the rest of the morning, a bounce in his step and a smile ready. Sam tried to approach the subject many times, but was always promptly brushed off by a well aimed comment by his brother.

And so, weeks passed, the situation remaining unspoken of. At first, Sam tried to get himself to believe that maybe things actually were alright. That all Dean had really needed was a shoulder to cry on, and nothing more. But as the weeks continued to pass them by, Sam knew that was not the case. Because if anything, Deans mood seemed forced. Put on. An act.

And for the love God, it was driving Sam mad.

"Dean, please, stop. Just stop."

Dean stopped mid-way through his now ritual surfing of daytime television (something that Sam _knew _Dean hated with a vengeance), glancing up and eyebrows raised. Dean's eyes flicked over Sam's face, his own hardening for a second before it relaxed into an amused smirk.

"Damn Sammy, if you saw a show you wanted to watch you should've just asked. No need to go all 'serious puppy dog eyes' on me, sheesh."

Temporarily thrown by the comment, Sam opened his mouth to protest, something along the lines of "I _do not_ make that face" before snapping his mouth shut. He was being baited again. And this time, he was not falling for it.

Seeing that his little jab had gone without a reaction, Dean rolled his eyes before turning back to the TV.

But Sam was not going to be shut out. Not again. Stalking across the room to where his brother lay, he wrenched the remote out of Deans hands, flinging the remote across the room with a strength he never even knew he possessed.

"The hell man!" Dean shouted, jumping to his feet and facing his brother full on. "What the fuck is your problem Sam!"

"You." Sam said, his finger coming up to jab his brother in the chest. "You are my problem. You and your absolute refusal to talk about things!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean ground out, eyes smoldering.

"Don't pull that shit with me Dean. Don't you fucking dare. You may have everyone else fooled, but I see right through you Dean."

"Sam." Dean said, his voice holding a warning. Sam brushed it off.

"Don't you trust me? Is that why you wont let me in?"

"This isn't about you, Sam! You wouldn't understand!"

"I might not understand what you went through, Dean, but I do understand pain. You think you can handle it, and then one day you can't! When that happens, you either find ways to keep going, or you don't."

Sam's eyes fled to the ground, eyes welling with tears, voice breaking.

"And man," he said, watery eyes rising up to meet Dean shocked ones, "it fucking terrifies me thinking about what you might do, fuck,_what you have already done, _because you decided that dying's easier than living."

Sam's voice broke on the end, biting his lip to fight back tears that threatened to all. Dean's eyes softened, mouth quirking up into a small, sad smile.

"Oh Sammy. C'mere."

Spreading his arms out, Dean offered something he hadn't done in years. Something that, after the age of twelve, Sam had insisted he was too old for, and back then would've refused the offer.

Now, he didn't even hesitate. He threw himself into his brothers arms, arms coming up to bunch his brothers shirt in his hands, tears falling down his face.

Dean's hand rubbed soothing circles into his back, the other coming up to encircle his head. It should've been an uncomfortable position, Sam being several inches taller than Dean. But he didn't care. It had been so long since he'd last been held by his brother. He wasn't about to ruin it now.

They stood like that for what seemed an age, Sam curled up against Deans chest, Dean soothing his baby brother.

"Sam," Dean finally said, his voice quite. "I'm gonna say this once, and once only. What happened with Dad is in the past. I'm not so stupid as to say it doesn't bother me from time to time, but I deal with it, and have been dealing with it my whole entire life. It's just something I've always done alone and will continue to do."

"But Dean-" Sam started, beginning to pull away from the embrace to protest.

"No buts dude," Dean said, tightening his grip on Sam. "It's not something I talk about, okay? However, I promise that if I ever need to, I'll come to you, okay?"

Sam's breath hitched, before nodding his head in acceptance. He was scared that if he spoke a word, his brother would withdraw the promise. But when he didn't, Sam allowed a smile to creep across his face. Dean had never broken a promise to him. And call it whatever you will, childish naivete or trust in his brother. Whatever it was, Sam knew he would keep his word.

"Oh, by the way dude."

"Yeah, Dean?"

"If you ever mention this to anyone I'll cut your nuts off."

"Scouts honor, dude."

"You know you actually have to have been a scout to make that promise, right?"

"Fuck off, Dean."

"Love you too, Sammy."

0o0

So, in the end, all that was needed was a good old fashioned chick flick moment.

Well, that, and one stubborn son-of-a-bitch Winchester.

.

.  
The End.

0o0

Authors Note: Firstly, sorry about any spelling/grammar mistakes you may have found. This was written without a beta. Hopefully the mistakes are not too horrible. However, if you felt that the mistakes are just too unbearable, then please send me a PM telling what I did wrong and I'll be sure to remedy that.

Wow, how about that then, huh? That took a lot longer to finish then I thought it would. But after the mid-season ten finale I just felt the need to finish this, especially with all the talk about John in the episode. But I hope you enjoyed my story (wow, this is the first story I've ever finished!), and thank you to all the reviews, favorite, follows and what not. I loved them all so much and I can never thank you guys more.

Anyways, Merry Christmas everybody, I hope you have an awesome holiday, and I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Until next time!


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